blind, hiding the real Germany.

Listen, at least, to what this old village of the Ile-de-France knows of
Germany.

With the early days of September 1914, there was a lamentable exodus
from all this district. Long lines of fugitives making for safety and
the south, carts filled with household stuff and carrying the women and
children, herds of cattle and sheep, crowded the roads. The Germans were
coming, and the terror of Belgium and the Ardennes had spread to these
French peasants of the centre. On September 1st, the post-mistress of
Vareddes received orders to leave the village, after destroying the
telephone and telegraphic connections. The news came late, but panic
spread like wildfire. All the night, Vareddes was packing and going. Of
800 inhabitants only a hundred remained, thirty of them old men.

One of the emigrants did not get far from home. He was a man of seventy,
Louis Denet by name. He left Vareddes with his wife, in a farm-cart,
driving a cow with them. They went a day's journey, and put up for a few
days at the farm of a friend named Roger. On Sunday the 6th, in the
morning, four Germans arrived at the farm. They went away and came back
again in the afternoon. They called all the inmates of the farm out into
the yard. Denet and Roger appeared. "You were three men this morning,
now you are only two!" said one of the Germans. And immediately they
took the two old men a little distance away, and shot them both, within
half a mile of the farm. The body of Roger was found by his wife the day
after; that of Denet was not discovered for some time. Nobody has any
idea to this day why those men were shot. It is worth while to try and
realise the scene--the terror-stricken old men dragged away by their
murderers--the wives left behind, no doubt under a guard--the sound of